


So Beset By Thorns and Briars

by neverwheredreamer (clutzycricket)



Series: Strange Little Town [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Tam Lin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:28:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clutzycricket/pseuds/neverwheredreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa always wanted her life to be a song. ...She probably should have specified which song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Beset By Thorns and Briars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SecondStarOnTheLeft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/gifts).



So Beset by Thorns and Briars

Sansa had never quite understood why no one went to Brightwater House anymore.

The Florents had lived in Brightwater House decades ago, until after the Great War. One of the Florent sons had come back with a nasty case of shell shock, and developed an unhealthy obsession with fire.  His family had tried to keep him out of sight, which had ended horribly when he burned down a good portion of the home.  The remaining son, still stuck in France, had chosen to move away without trying to fix anything. Stannis Baratheon and Leyton Hightower had both married Florents, though, so they didn’t shun the town utterly.

But the ruins of Brightwater Keep, in the supposedly safer southern half of the woods, should be a magnet for the curious and troublesome children who ran rampant through the town. Robb had looked puzzled when she asked, and Theon had admitted that none of his family had ever tried it. Bran looked thoughtful and said he might try it if he got the chance, and Arya looked at her like she was crazy and said it was creepy.

Brienne had said a man went missing there a while back, around the time her mother had died. Sam had shuddered, and Jon had looked thoughtful and said he might take Ygritte there one day.

So Sansa, being a research loving soul, had decided to investigate on one of her days off. She’d taken her gear from the things Father insisted she had- sturdy boots, a thermos of water and a thermos of soup, and her digital camera.

She’d also left a note for Robb, just in case. She knew as well as anyone else that the woods weren’t always safe. But that was when the night came in and the leaves started falling, winter locking them away from the outside world. But it was early August, and it was eight in the morning when she left Winterfell in her little car, so she felt safe enough.

The road to Brightwater House branched off Rose Road, a little past Highgarden. It fell into bad repair fairly quickly, turning gravel as soon as she hit the turn off and choked with weeds less than a mile in. Sansa parked in a little glade, thinking to spare her undercarriage.

It was shockingly hard to get any further along the path, with thorny thickets and roots in the worst possible position.

But one didn’t work for Tyrion Lannister without acquiring a certain amount of bloody-mindedness, much less have Arya for a little sister. So she managed the mile or so to the house without more than a few scratches on her forearms and in under an hour.

The house was along the Honeywine, a small offshoot of the Tumblestone River. The reason for the house’s name was obvious, with the ruins of a magnificent window looking out over the glittering banks

It was mostly intact, if you ignored the gaping window and the rosebushes and other vines that had overrun almost _everything_.

Sansa snapped a photo.

“What are you doing here?”

The voice was light, male, and somewhere between puzzled and annoyed. Sansa certainly didn’t jump up like a scalded cat to confront him.

The man was a good decade older than her, if still very attractive, with curly brown hair and a wry grin, wearing a mostly-buttoned green shirt and light grey trousers, and not showing any sign of summer stickiness, drat him.

“I would apologize, but you _are_ trespassing,” he pointed out, leaning on his cane. It didn’t make him any less tall- she was about as tall as her father, and Brienne was the only woman taller than her in town, and she still had to look up at him.

“You aren’t a Florent,” Sansa pointed out. His eyes, which were a striking green-gold, reminded her of someone, but he didn’t resemble Rhea Hightower or Selyse Baratheon at all. (His ears weren’t sticking out, an uncharitable part of her thought.)

“No, but I live here,” he countered.

“But you are trespassing as well, then,” Sansa scowled. “Really, sir, you have no right to throw stones.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, and Sansa blushed.  Growing up, she had devoured all of the great classics, as well as a long list of historical romances she had swapped with Jeyne Poole. It might have had an effect on her vocabulary. A _slight_ effect.

“So you haven’t heard, then,” he said thoughtfully. “Right. Sorry about that. But you really shouldn’t be here, it’s dangerous. So go home and tell Oberyn to check his thrice-damned spells, since they’re clearly fading faster than they should.”

Sansa didn’t miss the calculating look on his face, before he shook his head, too long curls obscuring his face. “Of _course_ they are. Really, leave and don’t come back.”

“If it’s so dangerous, why are you here? Highgarden is obligated to take in anyone who has problems in this part of the woods,” Sansa crossed her arms and glared up at him. (It usually worked when Tyrion was being a fool.)

“I’m bound here,” he grumped, as he used his cane to draw a line in the gunk covering one of the stone benches, causing the rest to slither off. A sorcerer then? “For the last… _fuck_ , what year is it?”

“Two thousand twelve,” Sansa said, taking one end of the bench as he settled himself down.  

“Sixteen years, then.” He sighed at that. Sansa would have been eight, then, and remembered Robb being restricted to the around Winterfell about then. “Be careful not to fall here, and never take any assistance to get back on your feet if you fall.”

The perfume of the roses was almost overbearingly strong now.  Sansa tried to breathe through her mouth. “You really expect me to leave you?”

“I did just say I was bound here, and that this place and everything in it is dangerous.” He looked at her with a half-quirked smile. He looked _tired_ , despite his good humor, with circles under his eyes and a sense of defeat about him.

“I _can_ take care of myself,” Sansa told him.

“I thought I could too,” he huffed, curling inward. “Look where that got me.”

Sansa sighed. “I’m going to free you, just so you know. Or at least do my best. The Starks have been taking care of these woods for ages, and we don’t forget that.”

He sighed.  “Good luck, Miss Stark.”

~

Her first order of business, after leaving the stranded sorcerer, was to head into town and ask Oberyn Martell what he knew.

Which meant finding someone to go with her, because he was mildly terrifying. And possibly a vampire- no one had ever proved the stories true, one way or the other. His daughter Elia, who was about Sansa’s age and an old classmate, would have been a good choice, if she wasn’t likely to try and investigate the house herself.

So she stuck to the other person she knew well enough to ask, and headed over to the Red Apartments. It wasn’t as bad as the incident with the stink bombs, but she still had to wince before she managed to get around the compost bin someone had set up.

The inside was quite nice, with dark wood, cream walls, and red carpeting. Sansa headed up the stairs to knock on the door right off the stairs.

It swung open, revealing a woman about seven years older than Sansa. Rhaenys Targaryen was her cousin Jon’s half-sister, an absurdly clever woman with Liz Taylor eyes and long black curls tied back with whatever was at hand.

She was wearing a Stark Industries shirt and jeans at the moment, holding a coffee mug and looking up at Sansa suspiciously.

“Has that crazy girlfriend of his kidnapped Jon?” she asked. “I haven’t had enough coffee for a rescue attempt right now- I was up half the night getting yelled at over Skype for something I didn’t do, and as much as I want to hit something, I need sleep or caffeine more.”

“…Not that I’m aware of,” Sansa answered. “I have to talk to your uncle about something.”

“Uncle Doran, Uncle Viserys, or Uncle Oberyn?” Rhaenys asked, taking another sip of coffee.

“Oberyn,” Sansa said. “I think he knows about a situation in the woods, something… strange, and I don’t exactly know what it is.”

“What kind of a situation?” Rhaenys asked, beckoning her inside. The apartment came across as cozy rather than cramped, with brightly colored walls and a gorgeous vingtage wooden table in the kitchen.

The story came tumbling out, with Rhaenys making her a cup of what Sansa thought was lavender tea as she listened.

“Could it be Willas Tyrell?” Rhaenys mused. “It fits what I know of the story, at least.”

That would explain why Sansa thought Willas looked familiar- she had had the most embarrassing crush on Loras Tyrell for ages, until she had realized that Loras would never return the feeling. (And that, judging by Renly, her height and blue eyes would have been the only thing she had in common with his type.) Loras and Willas did have the same eyes, and some of the other features and gestures clicked as she thought about it.

“Margaery’s older brother, right?” Margaery had dated Robb and Jon both, two years apart. She’d explained it by telling Sansa that there were very few decent boys of a suitable age in Westeros, which Sansa had to admit was true.

“Eldest brother, yes,” Rhaenys said , thoughtfully. “We will have to see Uncle Oberyn, then- he was the last person to see Willas before he went missing.”

Oh dear.

~

“I think we’re owed a story,” Rhaenys said cheerfully after picking open the locked work-room, her youngest cousins watching her eagerly. “Namely, about whatever is going on in Brightwater Keep.”

Oberyn Martell looked up from his experiment. “I thought I told you not to do that,” he said, adjusting one of his copper vats.

“Then you shouldn’t have taught me how to pick locks,” Rhaenys pointed out, collapsing on a wooden chair. Sansa closed the door, ignoring the pouts of the children. “So, care to explain why you are keeping Willas Tyrell in isolation up at Brightwater Keep?”

“Because he’s fey-bound,” Mr. Martell said, sarcasm fairly dripping from his words. Or perhaps it was the fumes. “He was training a new horse of his, and I rode with him. The day was clear, and the horse was exceptionally well behaved. He went off to put the horse through some jumps, and I went to go investigate something unusual not too far away. I heard the horse, Willas shouting, and then bells.” He sighed. “I did everything I could to try and find him, but found nothing but those thrice damned roses growing over the path.”

“So you sealed off the property?” Sansa asked, unable to keep all of the anger from her voice.

“A month later, when I found Willas in the house and he told me what had happened,” Oberyn said, an unreadable look on his face. “He fell from the horse- I’m not entirely sure that was accidental, but I cannot prove otherwise. When he tried to get up, he found it impossible, what with the damage to his leg. A woman helped him get up… only she turned out to be a fairy woman of some sort.”

“And in accepting her help, he was in her power,” Rhaenys said, misery clear. Sansa remembered with a pang that she and Garlan Tyrell were close friends. “Mace Tyrell wouldn’t have taken that well.”

“He threatened to stake me,” Oberyn said dryly. “I have, however, the best skill set to find a way to release him, unless we count your father.”

“Who is useless,” Rhaenys said with mock-cheer, sounding worryingly like him. “Sansa, you still determined to save our damsel in distress?”

Sansa nodded. “He’s… well, Mr. Martell, you have seen him, he’s so… disconnected from everything, it’s hurting him to stay there.”

He considered her for a moment. “I agree. If you find anything, let me know.”

~

“…and that is what he knew,” Sansa finished. Willas had sighed on seeing her, before ushering her into the mostly-intact drawing room. There had to be magic involved somehow, keeping the damp out and the wallpaper from peeling.  Sansa was not sure if it was magic or time that had erased most of the smell of smoke.

It did smell quite strongly of roses, though. Sansa was trying very hard not to sneeze, but Willas’ knowing expression probably meant she wasn’t hiding it was well as she had hoped.

“Which is about what I knew,” Willas pointed out. He had told her it wasn’t safe to serve any of the food he had in the house, and Sansa’s own knowledge had agreed.

“Mmm, which is why I checked the library at Winterfell. I found a few references to things that can be done, which Mr. Martell might not have known about. The thing is, all fairy bargains have a loophole,” Sansa explained.

“…There is,” Willas agreed.

Sansa stared at him. “You know what it is, don’t you?” Oh, that, that… he _knew_ , when his family was mourning him, and Mr. Martell was fairly clearly feeling guilty about it, and he was acting like some self-important martyr about it all!

“Yes,” Willas said, curling forward across the gap between their chairs, close enough that Sansa’s hair was entangling with his. “Do you know the concept behind the Devil’s tithe?”

“If I remember correctly,” Sansa said, wracking her mind for the old story, “that someone is sacrificed to hell every seven years by the fairies. Am I right?”

He nodded. “And, this year, _I_ am the sacrifice.”

It took Sansa a moment to process that, horror freezing her brain. “What? No, we have to do something…”

Willas leaned forward a little bit more, laughing. “That would be the problem. I could do so, yes, but there is a good deal of risk involved to my rescuer.” He cocked his head. “And Oberyn, as… very Oberyn as he is, does not follow the rules for this little game.”

“Oh?” Sansa asked, feeling a little bit daring. Maybe it was just the Stark stubbornness, or maybe it was just being alone with an attractive man who hadn’t known her as a stuck-up preteen, but she looked up at him through her lashes and smiled. “What rules?”

“It needs to be a woman with a tie to the man,” Willas answered. “Do you think Margaery would be willing to help me?”

It took Sansa a moment to realize that he was flirting with her. Or teasing her. Or both. Most likely both.

“I’ll help you, Tyrell, provided that you actually tell me what I need to do,” Sansa said tartly.

Willas chuckled. “Do you know the crossroads, up by Ruby Bridge?” Sansa nodded. “I’ll be riding on a white horse, and need you to pull me off, and not let me go, no matter what. “

“What will they do to make me let you go?” Sansa asked after a moment. She knew her stories- nothing was that easy. Not to mention the fact that he had just said it was dangerous.

Willas shot her a quick look of approval. “They will work a series of transformations on me- eight, for this Ride. You hold on for the first seven, and for the eighth and final one you throw me into the river, breaking the bindings on me.”

“How much damage can you do to me for these transformations?” Sansa twirled her hair, waiting for the answer.

“Nothing lasting- it’ll all be illusions,” Willas looked hopefully. “This actually might work.”

“Of course it will- I’m a Stark, and Starks are incredibly stubborn,” Sansa said, trying for flirty. She thought she had failed until he leaned forward enough to meet her.

“That was… incredibly real,” Willas said after he broke off the kiss, a little winded.

Sansa was trying not to smile like an idiot, but she had to ask. “Real?”

 “Try being kept as a fairy pet,” he smirked. “I think they are very good at kissing, among other things… but I can barely remember most of it, just little flashes.”

“Mmm, aren’t you not supposed to compliment your ex-girlfriends while romancing a girl?” Sansa pointed out, trying to fix her hair.

“Who said they were all girls?” Willas asked wickedly. Sansa had to concede the point.

“Shall I come back next week?” Sansa asked.

“You should,” Willas said so quickly she barely understood. “Best to make the tie between us as strong as possible.”

“I’ll bring snacks,” Sansa said, sounding addled to her own ears. “Do you like lemoncakes?”

~

Towards the end of September, as soon as Sam went for lunch, Rhaenys came in carrying a scarlet tote bag, one of the massive fantasy novels she loved peeking out.

“I come bearing practical gifts,” she said, looking coolly at Tyrion’s closed door.

“He’s talking with his uncle Gerion,” Sansa answered her unspoken question. “He just got into Jakarta, I think?” Geography wasn’t Sansa’s strongest suit.

“Brilliant,” Rhaenys said, dropping off her book in the returns slot with her back towards Sansa. “I spoke to my father.”

“Oh,” Sansa said, feeling foolish. She knew Rhaegar Targaryen wasn’t human, anyone who had ever seen his sons practice sports or Rhaenys sing knew that. She just hadn’t thought much about how his children felt about their fickle, strange father.

“He said the cloak might help- it shows a physical claim, like a ring. Use it after you throw Tyrell in the river,” Rhaenys was clipped, and her stance was so uncomfortable that Rickon could realize it.

“I am buying you dinner for a week,” Sansa promised, knowing she’d only make it worse by treating it seriously.

“If it works,” Rhaenys grinned sickly at her. “Only if it works. You should try and decorate it- make it yours while recognizing Willas.”

Sansa pulled out the heavy green fabric, her mind showing her the embroidery she would need, in grey and white and gold…

“I can do that,” Sansa said. She’d have to do it in the library at lunch- her siblings were far too nosy, and she didn’t want to risk them trying to go to Brightwater House.

~

“Sansa, I swear, I didn’t do this on purpose,” Willas said desperately. He’d gone very quiet when Sansa had told him her news.

“No intention of strengthening the tie between us?” Sansa asked, far more bitter than she meant to be.

He looked like she had slapped him. “Sansa, no. I promise.”

“Alright,” she said, taking a shaky breath. Autumn was coming quickly into the area, with the leaves falling into wet piles, making the trip up to Brightwater slower and trickier.

But she had needed to see Willas, if only to tell him that Shae had found out, the story pouring from Sansa after taking the test.

How long could she keep this from her parents? They couldn’t complain much- not with Aunt Lyanna and Jon, and Uncle Brandon and Aunt Ashara living in sin for almost twenty-five years. (And really, how many people _believed_ that Robb was born early?)

“The circumstances are a bit odd,” Willas said tentatively, “But I think we have gotten to know each other as we behave under stress, and clearly are attracted to each other despite that.”

Sansa snorted.

“So, because I can’t get down on my knees, will you accept the promise of an engagement ring as soon as I can get my hands on one?” Willas asked, hope clear in his eyes.

Sansa blinked, mind terrifyingly blank.

“Unless you despise me and are only using me for duty and a hero complex,” Willas said, pitch rising. “Or my body. I will- not gladly, but I’ll accept the last option.”

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” Sansa said, mind a giddy whirl. “Yes, yes, yes.” She thought worriedly over how long it took to plan a wedding, though- and she would need a proper one, to soothe Mother and Margaery and parties were always a thing, not to mention how she would look in her dress. “A year… after, though. Or something like that, so our families don’t both murder us.”

Though _how_ she would get Arya in a dress would be a problem.

~

Grandfather Tully had always scowled when the subject of Petyr Baelish came up. Up until this moment, Sansa had never quite understood _why_.

Baelish must have been the one to sneak into her office and go through her research- at least the cloak had been safe, in Sansa’s knitting bag with her when she went to buy thread.  She had thought it was Shae, or maybe Mr. Martell seeing what she had done- she’d let him know about everything, just in case he’d known something that could upset the whole plan.

She’d been so _careful_.  She had everything planned out perfectly, and had planned on being home before three AM, and presenting it to her parents as a fait accompli, and it wasn’t fair!

And now she was reacting like some silly movie heroine.

Baelish had told her parents _something_ \- judging by her Mother’s pitying looks, most likely that Willas had enchanted her and was planning on using her as the tithe, or some similar garbage. (Really, like she hadn’t had Rhaenys check her for spells or bindings.)

And they were locking her in her room like she was a child. She was twenty-four years old, with a university degree and a job of her own! She certainly had _eyes_ of her own- Baelish’s stares had been creepy enough that even Arya had noticed, and Lady growled whenever he came near.

She knew her parents were only thinking of her safety, but Willas was quite literally about to be sent to Hell unless she did something.

The window knocked, and Sansa jumped.

Bran waved at her, grinning widely. Lady looked up from her sulk on Sansa’s bed and sighed.

She threw it open. “What are you doing? Didn’t Mother tell you not to go climbing?”

“Didn’t Mother tell you not to go rescue your boyfriend?” Bran asked, climbing in her room.

“...You win, Bran,” Sansa admitted. “Do you have a…” She looked at the rope Bran was tying to the four poster bed Father and Robb had helped her haul out of the attics when she was nine.  “Oh, _no_ …”

“It’s just in case you fall,” Bran said, “Gendry thinks it’ll hold, and we have a coin-charm to make sure of it, Sansa, and it’s the only way out. Dad’s waiting on the steps, since Rickon tried to go up and open your door.”

She had a feeling Robb had told Rickon to go do that, so Bran could get up here undisturbed. “Why are you helping me?”

“Well, Mr. Baelish is creepy, and we get to help you have an adventure,” Bran admitted. “None of us were sure you had it in you.”

Sansa tried to glare through her watering eyes. “Thank you.”

She looked down and was very glad her room was right above a jutting bit of stone. It wasn’t that risky- she’d done it in the summers, when Arya had dared her to.

“Where’s Mother?” Sansa asked.

“Dealing with Rickon and Shaggydog,” Bran said. “Summer is keeping watch for us.”

She’d have to ask how Bran trusted Summer to keep an eye out for Mother later. She scratched Lady behind the ears and climbed out the window.

She made most of the climb down, falling about two feet before she could jump off the rope and bruising her tailbone.

Summer sniffed her carefully.

“I’m fine,” she told the direwolf, heading out towards the gates. She hoped her siblings had a plan to get her to Ruby Bridge- she had less than two hours to get there, and she still needed to get the cloak out of Sam’s office. (It seemed safest there, after all.)

“Come on, Sansa,” Arya hissed from the woods. Sansa raised her eyebrows but listened to her sister.

“Do I want to know?” Sansa asked, looking at the battered ATV.

“I’ve been working on it since I was fourteen,” Arya shrugged. “It’s not hard, and as long as Mum doesn’t find out…”

“I won’t tell,” Sansa said, thinking privately that it would be loud enough to wake the dead when Arya started it.

“Of course you won’t,” Arya’s smile was fierce. “So, I got Rhaenys to tell me and Jon what was going on. Jon has your cape thing, and he’ll be waiting near the bridge with it. Don’t worry about Mr. Baelish.”

“…Permanently?” Sansa tried to ignore the hope in her voice.

Arya shrugged. “Rhaenys said not to worry about it, and she has a seriously scary bitchface.”

Sansa… had to agree with that. “Can we go? I’m sorry, but…”

“Let’s go save your boyfriend?” Arya hopped on the rustbucket.

“Fiance, actually,” Sansa admitted.  Arya’s eyebrows went up to her hairline.

“Seven hells, really? I need to give him the Stark speech?” She gestured to the back of the bike, which was worrying, as Sansa was about half a foot taller than her sister.

“Rickon will eat you if you make Sansa cry?” Sansa sighed. “That lost its charms after the Joffery debacle.”

Arya turned on the surprisingly quiet bike. Sansa looked over Arya’s shoulder suspiciously, wondering how she had managed it.

“No, that you are a scary lady who makes grown men cry, and that he shouldn’t piss you off,” Arya laughed, taking off through the woods.

No one was going to let her forget that, were they?

~

After she had chased her cousin Jon away from the bridge- “Really, Jon, you and Ghost are the opposite of subtle, and I have to do this myself, go join the alarming amount of people outside of Riverrun waiting to check up on me.”- Sansa settled down and waited behind a bit of shrubbery, fiddling with the too-long green cloak.

“I can do this, I can do this,” she kept repeating to herself, pulling the cloak tighter. It was cold, with the wind seeming to slip through the seams in her trousers and shirt, and tangling her hair.

The bells started just as her phone showed midnight, a silvery sound that made Sansa feel horribly inadequate.

She faced the path. First was a black horse, carrying a very, very red woman. Her hair was a brighter red than Sansa’s, with black bells braided into it, and a long, simple blood-red dress that seemed to have its own shifting light. She didn’t even look at Sansa, her pale, delicate face looking up and over the bridge.

Then the brown horse, carrying a young man with silver-gold hair, who looked a bit like Aegon Targaryen. His uncle Viserys, undoubtedly. She knew his sister Dany, who was very sweet if occasionally as irritable as Arya got. He was smirking, and Sansa immediately understood why Aegon and Jon were uncomfortable about him. He was enjoying this, for some reason.

Then she was the white mare, and Willas, looking blank and dressed to the nines- properly, in a suit and with his hair combed and gelled back. (Which looked ridiculous and a bit greasy, and if this worked she and Margaery would have to make sure he never did it again.)

Sansa launched herself at him, pulling him down and praying she didn’t damage his knee any further.

He immediately transformed, something coarse-furred and growling, and Sansa almost laughed because Willas was a direwolf, and did they _really_ think Sansa would be afraid of one? Lady took up most of her bed every night!

Then he transformed again, into something slimy with tentacles and a cruel beak that felt like it was digging into Sansa’s chest. There was something absurd about that- Theon had mentioned his family loved the sea, and told her stories about krakens. Of course something Theon loved would go for her breasts.

Then there was something smaller, with feathers, and Sansa bit down on a cry as the falcon savaged her with claws, beak, and arms. Aunt Lysa and her husband had owned a falconry that Robin and Tommen now ran, and Robin had gleefully shown his favorite cousin how to safely handle the birds.

Though that had involved gloves. Thick, leather gloves.

_I am not letting go_ , Sansa told herself. _I am not letting go. This baby needs their father, and I want Willas._

Cold and wet again, with scales this time. A fish of some sort, like the Tully crest that ran through Riverrun, and her Great-Uncle the Blackfish. And Uncle Edmure’s unfortunate nickname of “Floppy Fish”, and she remembered wine threatening to come out her nose when Roslin Frey had commented on the inaccuracy of that statement.

This time he was something a bit smaller than a direwolf, with a ruff of chestnut fur that made her remember the story of how Tyrion, at age five, had tried to climb into a lion enclosure, with his older brother needing to pull him out. Tyrion was one of the group waiting at Riverrun, along with Shae, Arya, Aegon, Margaery, and Mr. Martell, all of whom had looked like they were pouting when Sansa told them they could not wait at the bridge with her. (Well, she would have allowed Margaery, but she had decided to make sure none of the rest of them interfered.)

Next was the feel of leaves and flowers, of briars wrapping around her skin and digging in, and she was almost choking on the scent of roses. (Really, if Willas was trying to help, he could stop at any time.) She focused on gathering as many of the briars as possible to her.

She nearly burned with the next one, hot and scaly, and as the dragon-Willas roared she hoped that she wouldn’t be permanently deaf. She ignored the tearing feeling of the claws- she hadn’t felt blood at any time, and the fire couldn’t burn her. She just hoped Jon had truly gone away like she had told him to…

The stag _hurt_ , even bound close to Sansa, treading on her feet and it felt for a moment like her leg had broken. She refused to let go, safely hidden between his front legs. She would be fine, she told herself. Stick to it.  It wasn’t any worse than the time she had tried to teach Bran and his girlfriend Shireen how to dance, someone had waxed the floors, and she’d fallen off the platform.

Then it felt like holding a miniature sun, and she flung both of them into the Tumblestone.  Mr. Martell had said for her to wait until she knew the magic was vulnerable, and surely this was it, with fire meeting water.

She surfaced holding a semi-conscious Willas, and hurriedly swept the green cloak over his naked form, cursing her frozen fingers. The river was freezing this late in the year.

The two waited while she pulled Willas out, glaring defiance as well as Arya ever managed it.

“He is _mine_ ,” Sansa said firmly. “Willas Tyrell is the father of my child, my intended husband, and you _cannot_ have him, do I make myself clear?”

The woman blinked. “I understand, little girl. Do you understand what you have done?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered. “Now go away, you aren’t wanted here!”

Ghost and Nymeria running down the road seemed to back up her point very well, as Viserys galloped away and over the path.

And that was all Sansa knew, as she collapsed on the ground around Willas, thoroughly soaked and exhausted.

~

Sansa looked at her parents nervously. It had been very nice of Margaery to allow her to hide in Highgarden while she rested, and the Tyrells had been extremely… well, amused, by Willas’ explanation of everything that had happened. (Possibly because he had started off by asking if anyone knew of a suitable engagement ring he could use. His grandfather Leyton Hightower had provided a silver ring that had belonged to his mother, and that was settled, at least.)

Though Garlan offering to stand guard while she spoke to her parents was a bit much. It wasn’t that she was afraid of them. It was just… well, Bran had summed it up for her, on Halloween. That Sansa was not the sort to do dangerous things. Or defy her parents. Or be anything other than the perfect daughter.

Now she had rescued a man from a fairy queen, run away from home, and ended up pregnant before getting married.

Tyrion was right in saying that she didn’t do anything by halves. (He had also told her that he had gotten Sam to sort out all of the paperwork for her recuperation and eventual maternity leave, which was sweet in a Tyrion way.)

She bit her lip. “Sorry?” It worked for her brothers and sister, after all…

Her mother laughed and hugged Sansa, and alright, she _was_ crying, but it was for a good reason.

“We’re very proud of you, Sansa,” her father said gravely, looking a bit alarmed by the fuss.

“And I’m sorry for listening to Petyr,” Mother said, smoothing Sansa’s curls like she had done when Sansa was little. “I was just so afraid…”

“It’s alright, and I am sorry for leading my siblings into trouble,” Sansa repeated.

“They tend to find trouble without any help,” Mother pointed out wryly. Sansa had to admit that was true.

“Er, how much did Robb tell you?” Apparently her brother and his wife had been the ones to explain what had happened, with Mr. Martell adding in some details of the theory behind it. (He still wasn’t welcome in Highgarden, which made Willas scowl.)

“About how you found Willas, that you fell in love, and needed to save him,” Mother said. “And about how you had to pull him away from the bindings when they were weakest. Though they were both missing a few details.”

Oh dear. Well, she had a few details to add, didn’t she?

Maybe hiding behind Garlan would have been a good idea, considering the reaction when Robb eloped with Jeyne.

“I can explain everything,” Sansa started without thinking.

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Everything?”

“Everything,” Sansa said, and started her story.


End file.
